


the long way 'round

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, LISTEN EVERYBODY GETS TO BE FRIENDS BECAUSE I SAID SO, M/M, and some other minor ships but eh they don't really matter, emperor edelgard plays matchmaker to two dumbasses: the musical, featuring just about every characer so I'm not going to list them all, hashtag dimiclaude y'all, just a fun post-canon fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: Claude laughs, once, falsely. “You’d wage a war to get me and Dimitri to confess these so-calledfeelingsthat you think you’ve observed?”“As opposed to spending the rest of my life watching you two fumble hopelessly around each other?” Edelgard sips her tea, serene. “Yes, Claude, I would wage a war. And—if our own very recent history is any indication—I’d probably win that war.”Claude is tugging on his cravat in a manner that strikes Edelgard as both very uncomfortable and very unlike Claude.“Technically,” he says, his voice just a shade less confident than it had been a moment ago, “the war was something of a tie.”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 172





	the long way 'round

Edelgard isn't sure when it occurs to her.

All in all—it's a very good performance. She truly wouldn't expect anything less, after all—once upon a time, these two men were her fiercest adversaries. Many a night she'd spent in a war council, Byleth at her side, flanked by Hubert and Ferdinand, the rest of the Black Eagle House spread around the table, staring down at a map, miniatures of a stag and a lion standing tall in opposition to the eagle that represented herself.

In truth, remembering Claude and Dimitri as clever, stubborn, adaptable, fearsome opponents is something that sounds much more stately and impressive when she's recalling their sensational battle at Gronder Field than when she's watching Claude try and convince Dimitri to take a sip of some unknown liquid she is absolutely positive he's laced with some kind of laxative.

"Hubert."

Her dearest retainer—ever stationed at her side—is trying not to smirk. She can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "My lady?"

"Please remind His Majesty King Claude of Almyra that he is _not_ permitted to poison His Majesty King Dimitri of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus while under my roof," says Edelgard, watching as Claude feigns taking a sip of the drink himself as though to convince Dimitri that it's safe, and _Saints Dima, use your fucking_ _ **brain,**_ " and should he attempt to do so again, he will be swiftly reminded just _where_ Almyra learned the art of poisoning from in the first place."

Hubert looks _delighted._

"May that reminder be provided with some of our own poisoning?" he asks, clearly trying to mask his genuine cheer at the prospect. Edelgard flicks him a sidelong glance. He lifts an eyebrow, the picture of courtly refinement. "Just to ensure the lesson sticks."

"That would be counterproductive, Hubert," Edelgard says, dryly, and to his credit he doesn't _visibly_ deflate. "And I don't particularly care to explain to Dorothea why you would be returning to her with House Goneril's Relic embedded into your _skull,_ should Lady Hilda discover what you've done."

Hubert scoffs, supremely unbothered by such a very real possibility.

"Dorothea would avenge me," he replies, as unflappable as ever, though his tone burns with a bit of pride at the idea and Edelgard rolls her eyes because _of course_ his wife's staggering magical prowess would be the sticking point for him, never mind the fact that Lady Hilda is both a close personal friend and a leading figure of the Alliance in her own right. On top of having her _own_ wife whose arcane abilities are absolutely nothing to sneeze at.

Edelgard watches Hubert watch Claude, idly aware that her most favored songstress-turned-spy and her most devout confidant are absolutely going to cause an international incident someday in the near future and she is _not_ going to have it in herself to even pretend to be surprised.

Her lips twitch, despite it all.

Saints, but she loves her friends.

Enbarr is full of friends, these days. Beyond her Black Eagles—which, truth be told, Edelgard never imagined she'd have friends outside of her old classmates, something she'd confessed while admittedly somewhat drunk with Dimitri and Claude, the latter of which had remarked, with stunning clarity despite his own waning sobriety, that that was _"the most depressing thing I've ever heard, Edelgard, holy_ _ **shit"**_ even as he'd pulled her into a somewhat uncoordinated hug—she's found friendship all throughout the ranks of the Golden Deer and Blue Lions, though she's still closest to their respective leaders.

She and Dimitri had even made up—in a sort of, kind of, very much a work-in-progress way—due mostly to Claude loudly suggesting they do so at every given opportunity and routinely leaving them alone at tea parties that he himself had orchestrated, clearly for the exact purpose of _leaving_ said tea party, and—

 _“I blamed you,"_ Dimitri had murmured. He'd fiddled with his cup—Claude had told her, in confidence, that he'd commissioned a steel tea set, cups and plates and saucers expertly crafted to appear as close to their porcelain counterparts as possible, so as to keep Dimitri from continuously pulverizing fine china. Dimitri can still absolutely break them—his raw strength is overwhelming, but what really scares Edelgard is the way he is clearly unrehearsed in solving problems that lack tactile solutions—but whenever he handles them, it is with a gentleness that clearly surpasses his desire to keep them intact. It's like...like he's trying to _prove_ something.

 _"Dimitri,"_ she'd tried, tone stiff and stilted even to her own ears, because it was hard, _Saints_ it was so hard—

He'd looked up—eyes just as blue as she'd remembered a lifetime ago in Faerghus. _"I blamed you for everything,"_ he'd said quietly, running his thumb along the curve of the teacup's handle. _**"Everything.**_ _Even when it couldn't have possibly been your fault."_

 _"You felt betrayed."_ Edelgard had felt tired, suddenly. The kind of exhaustion she never allowed herself on campaign. She'd slumped slightly in her chair, felt some of her mask—stern and steely and Imperial to her _bones—_ slip. _"You_ _**were**_ _betrayed. We were so young, Dimitri, you trusted those you'd been raised to trust, you can't possibly be faulted for—"_

" _I should have trusted_ _ **you,"**_ Dimitri had interrupted, firm and unyielding in the way he only ever was when it came to his own guilt and blame, and Edelgard had sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. She'd declined to wear it up in the style of her Imperial standard for Dimitri and Claude's visit—had traded her twin horns and tightly coiled braids for a looser, softer plait and a simple golden circlet. When asked, she'd told Hubert it was to put them at ease—so they wouldn't be reminded of the Emperor they'd faced during the war, but remember instead the student they'd walked the halls of Garreg Mach with.

It was only half the truth. Just as important as reminding Claude and Dimitri that _she_ was no longer the enemy was reminding herself of the same thing. Forcing herself into a more casual appearance helped, some, though her fingers had still reflexively closed around empty air whenever Dimitri made an unexpected movement, searching for the hilt of her axe.

 _"I didn't give you much opportunity to,"_ she'd said, softly, examining the contents of her teacup with a single-minded intensity even Hubert would have been proud of. Her hands had clenched painfully where she'd held them in her lap. _"I shut you out at every turn, you_ _ **wanted**_ _to be close and I—"_

 _"El,"_ he'd said, and Edelgard had nearly broken her fucking _neck_ looking up at the unexpected nickname, hand abandoning its search for a phantom axe to curl protectively around her own throat. Dimitri had only stared—eyes that could shame a diamond's own blue. _"I'm sorry. For everything that I did, for whatever it's worth. I'm sorry."_

She'd bowed her head, teeth on edge, felt her skin crawling where her scars were on display—she didn't want to hide, not anymore, not here, not surrounded by friends—but she'd been struck with a sudden feeling of _exposure_ and she just—

Claude laughs—loud and open and warm—and Edelgard is drawn out of her thoughts to watch Dimitri lean back, smirking, having clearly just delivered some joke or another to prompt Claude's reaction, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

It's something she sees often, the times she and Claude and Dimitri gather together. While she and Dimitri enjoy a familial closeness, and Claude is now counted as one of her most valued friends, those two have always just seemed...more. She finds it difficult to articulate, but everything about their interactions—from the way Claude seems to always know when Dimitri's thoughts have grown too loud and he needs to be escorted out of a situation, or how Dimitri is always singularly aware of Claude's presence and his every step compliments the other man's stance like a sentinel—speaks of a bond deeper than what they have with others.

Edelgard has always assumed it's just leftover camaraderie from the war—in the end, they'd all allied together, the Deer and the Lion and the Eagle as one—but many months had dragged by before Edelgard had been brought into the fold, before they'd realized they were all after the same essential goals, when it was just Claude and Dimitri, and she's never faulted them for the closeness those months had apparently brought them. And yet...

Dimitri says something else—there's a sly smile spreading across his teeth she's never seen before—and Claude grins back—

Edelgard makes to step forward—she wants to hear the joke and also just generally give them shit—but then she hears Claude say, "Good _gods_ ,Mitya, I can't _believe—"_ before dissolving into more laughter,and Edelgard pauses as something...soft passes over Dimitri's features.

 _Mitya._ Edelgard can't recall ever hearing that nickname before. She'd assumed those with whom he was particularly close called him _Dima,_ as she did, and yet—

Dimitri's hand—locked in a gauntlet, even here in the heart of the Capital where he truly couldn't be safer, but Edelgard knows he still needs it so she doesn't push—lifts up, hovering for a brief moment above Claude's knee where it's pressed up against his own, before his fingers clench and he abruptly drops it.

Claude sees it—they're hardly a foot apart, it'd be impossible for him _not_ to—and while his smile doesn't completely fade, it shrinks to a small, somewhat sardonic twist.

They stare at each other—Dimitri with his clenched fist and Claude with his sad sort of half-smile—and whatever warmth had existed between them seems to fade just as quickly as it'd came.

And Edelgard looks—and _looks—_ but their good humor seems thoroughly lost, and both men shift in their seats. _Hm._

Edelgard allows herself one last brief moment to observe the scene in all of its—to be quite frank, rather depressing—grandeur, before she's turning away.

"Hubert." Her mind spins as she walks, the thought taking root without her conscious permission, such is her natural inclination to planning. She does love a good, solid strategy, and there's something thrilling about weaving one where the stakes are _not_ the peace and security of the entire known world.

Hubert matches her stride, ever-attentive. "My lady?"

"After you've very politely and non-toxically corrected Claude's little game, do send for those Kingdom knights." She tugs absently on her gloves, thinking. "You know the ones."

Hubert's eyebrow climbs higher. "Those three, specifically, my lady?" he verifies. Asking a question without undermining her—Hubert still hasn't shed the habits he'd developed while on campaign. Sometimes she worries— _often_ she worries, always, really, a constant, consistent hum of concern, but that is neither here nor there—that the war shaped her friends so fiercely so early that they can never go back to who they were, or even move on to who they could be.

As if Hubert senses her thoughts—and if anyone can, it would be him, so she supposes that's not a wholly ungrounded idea—he clears his throat, says, "I only ask because—well, they're idiots, my lady."

Edelgard smiles, though she dutifully gives Hubert a reproachful look that holds no heat.

"Yes," says Edelgard, "but they're Dimitri's idiots, and I'm quite fond of at least one of them, so they're to be given an exception."

Hubert sighs, facetiously long-suffering. It draws another smile from Edelgard.

"As you command, my lady," he says, bowing neatly at the waist before striding off.

.

.

.

Ingrid—being both a Knight and a Duchess and possessing more feelings of altruism and chivalry than possibly any living person—greets Edelgard first.

She bows low at the waist, green ribbons fluttering where they're woven expertly through the braided crown her hair has been twisted into. One of Edelgard's first orders of business when peace had been brokered and she could speak freely with her old classmates had been to march straight up to the Galatea heiress and explain to her—in no uncertain terms—that there were far easier and less painful ways to tie up one's hair in such a manner, and she was going to show her _this instant._

Sylvain and Felix—Margave Gautier and Duke Fraldarius respectively, though she knows very well that neither are in their courts long enough to truly carry out those titles, not that anyone seems to particularly care, least of all them—bow as well, and Edelgard stands there, waiting for them to straighten, wondering idly if this is something she's expected to get used to or if being bowed at will continue to be at least slightly awkward for the rest of her life.

"Emperor," says Sylvian, when everyone has righted themselves, and Edelgard allows herself a brief moment of pointless fury at the fact that he is _unfairly_ tall. His smile is charming enough though, particularly when she knows he means nothing by it. "You sent for us?"

She nods. "I did. I hoped for you three to accompany me on a ride." Edelgard gestures to the stables beside her, as if they need additional assistance parsing her very obvious meaning. Felix eyes the horses, then her, then glances at his companions, expression drawn tight with suspicion. Edelgard just smiles politely.

It's a fine day for a ride, and it's as good as an excuse to get the three of them alone as any. And if all else fails—they're guests in her country and their alternative is having Hubert _loom_ over them for the remainder of their stay so they aren't in a tremendously advantageous position to say no. And she needs confirmation from reliable sources that what she witnessed between Claude and Dimitri is in fact exactly what she thinks it is.

So they all saddle up.

Edelgard never rode a horse in battle—she left any task even vaguely relating to cavalry in Ferdinand's very capable and enthusiastic hands—but it isn't as though she doesn't know _how_ to. And if she needs a stool to help boost her up onto the saddle, well, that's nobody's business, is it?

She leads them through the countryside, inquiring politely about their territories, partly because it's expected of her, but mostly because she has a vested interest. She'd called the Kingdom home too, at one time, even if she can't always remember those times. Ingrid and Sylvain are practiced at this, smoothly answering each of her questions with every ounce of courtly poise they can muster, and Felix can be convinced to participate when Ingrid kicks him sharply in the leg where they ride near each other.

All in all, Edelgard's had more awkward encounters, to be sure. Caspar's _unnecessarily detailed_ retelling of his and Linhardt's first few months after their elopement comes to mind.

"It wasn't _that_ bad, Ingrid," Sylvain is saying, shooting her a grin that Edelgard knows without looking she isn't returning.

Ingrid sighs—long and long-suffering. Edelgard ponders the odds of convincing her to move to Enbarr without inciting a riot.

"If Annette hadn't shown up when she did," says Ingrid, tone pointed, "things would have gotten _way_ out of hand—"

"It's _exciting,_ Ingrid. I thought you _liked_ excitement—"

"What I _like_ is a solid plan, _Sylvain._ You almost got Dimitri _killed—"_

"How is he, by the way," Edelgard cuts in smoothly, startling all three Knights who have very clearly forgotten their fourth riding companion. Edelgard lifts an eyebrow. "Dimitri?"

"What about him?" Felix asks, in a tone that isn't _overtly_ rude but is tart enough that Hubert would bristle like a cat had he heard it. Ingrid smacks him on the shoulder for his trouble and Edelgard feels that's penance enough.

"He seems..." says Edelgard, tapping a finger to her chin, as though this is a thought that has just occurred to her and not one she's been turning over in her mind for hours now. A little trick Dorothea taught her. "...happier."

Felix—for all his dour moods and careless pretenses, the man cannot keep his expressions under control—glances sharply at Ingrid, who has allowed her own face to glaze over, serene and empty.

Edelgard can feel Sylvain's stare from her other side, but studiously ignores it in favor of tilting her head, the very picture of harmless curiosity.

"I had only wondered if he met someone," she says, calm as you please. The details of any and all romantic entanglements have spread in peacetime, for better or for worse—Hilda and Marianne have been married since before Nemesis was even properly defeated and it's _still_ all the Goneril heiress will talk about. Edelgard's question is far from out of place, but still the trio of Kingdom knights shift atop their horses like she's just asked them something treasonous.

"Please," Edelgard waves a hand dismissively, "this is not an attempt to needle you for some secret, or coax you into betraying your King's trust." She _just_ resists the urge to roll her eyes because—for one thing, the Lions are as steadfastly loyal as her own Eagles, and such an attempt would be utterly pointless, and for another—what in the _world_ would she want with Dimitri's secrets?

Well, expect for this one, though to be fair, anyone with eyes and an even _slightly_ intuitive mind could probably put two and two together.

"His Grace's days are rather busy," drawls Sylvain, as Edelgard turns to glance his way. He lifts a red eyebrow. "Not a lot of time to spend wooing anyone."

Ingrid hisses, "Syl _vain—"_ but Felix speaks across her.

"There's not going to be a wedding in Faerghus anytime soon," the swordsman says, sharp and deliberate. He's scowling more than usual, but not at Edelgard. A kind of mindless frustration, idle anger—the way Caspar gets when he's told his enemy isn't _punchable._

"Surely he's facing pressure from the nobility," Edelgard says, trying to keep the arch tone out of her voice. She and Dimitri continue to argue round and round about nobility's place in the world—she would see every Duke and Duchess in the Kingdom stripped of their titles and replaced with more intelligent, more compassionate, more progressive individuals, as she'd done in the Empire, to which Dimitri remarks that he just finished fighting a Goddess-damned war and was also legally _dead_ until very recently, El, so maybe give him a month or six to pull his entire country out of the shitter, and then they can go about the very cheerful task of dismantling the backbone of the Kingdom's hierarchy.

 _"I could always dispose of the remaining nobility who hold to their archaic ideals,"_ Hubert had offered after one such argument.

 _"Would you wait until I'm out of_ _ **earshot,**_ _Hubert?"_ Dimitri had snapped back as he stormed off.

Sylvain laughs—once, without humor.

"Oh, there's pressure alright," he mutters, almost as an aside, and Ingrid flings him a _look._

"Why don't you just air out _all_ of His Majesty's personal problems?" she grouses at him, to which Felix scoffs, "We don't have that kind of time."

Edelgard's expression knits. "I don't follow," she admits, glancing at all of them in turn, though she thinks, truthfully, she does a little bit.

"If I may be so bold, Emperor," says Sylvain, like he's ever needed permission for such a thing before. "I'd put the King's marital status out of your mind. I can assure you it won't be a cause for concern for a very long time."

Edelgard nods politely, easily assenting, even while her mind drifts to the looks Dimitri and Claude had exchanged earlier that day.

She'll take that bet.

.

.

.

Ferdinand is appropriately appalled at the fact that she used horseback riding as an excuse to gather information when she leaves her steed with him at the stables— _"Your majesty, if I may, you are_ _ **never**_ _going to experience riding in its purest form if you keep—"_ and Edelgard strides off because she simply does _not_ have the time for one of Ferdinand's equine lectures, thank you.

Hubert forces an apple into her hands as he meets her back at the palace, apparently taking on his wife's usual role of making sure she actually consumes food in a manner that is conducive to her overall health and survival, something Edelgard occasionally forgets.

"Was your ride as enlightening as you'd hoped?" he inquires, assuming his typical post over her shoulder as she strides through the halls.

Edelgard hums noncommittally, only half-listening as she chews her fruit.

"We need to steal Duchess Galatea," she informs him instead. She glances over her shoulder. "Do you think Dimitri would mind?"

Hubert tilts his head, considering.

"More than likely, yes, but I'm sure we can work something out," he muses, seamlessly indulging her as always. Her lips quirk as she takes another bite. "We could frame it as a rescue, certainly. No court would rule against her once they were introduced to those two useless rags she calls her friends."

Edelgard leans back against him as they walk, lightly scolding. He means nothing by it, of course—Hubert might not be personal friends with Felix or Sylvain, but he gets on well enough with other Lions, like Mercedes and Dedue, and Edelgard had once watched his face contort to a look dark enough to give even _her_ chills when a noble had suggested the Empire take advantage of the Kingdom's weakened state post-war and claim the territory for themselves.

Edelgard has never seen that noble again. She doesn't particularly weep over it.

"A work in progress," Edelgard decides. "I'm sure Dorothea will have insight, when she returns."

A smile flickers at the edge of Hubert's jaw.

"Dorothea is very good at getting what she wants," he says, diplomatically, and Edelgard groans.

" _Insufferable,"_ she declares, turning sharply to take another path out of the palace. She glances back to glare at him—she tries, really, to summon the full force of her Imperial menace, but she hasn't exactly had to strike fear into anyone's heart in a good long while, and it wasn't anything she was terribly gifted at to begin with, she was just good with an axe and had opinions and that was apparently frightening enough—but Hubert frowns back.

"Are you quite sure this plan of yours is wise, my lady?" he asks, as Edelgard munches on the rest of her apple and decidedly _doesn't_ think about all the ways in which Dorothea _gets her way_ and _Saints_ this is why she doesn't get involved in the romantic lives of her friends.

Except, of course, when that's exactly what she's doing.

Edelgard lifts an eyebrow as she swallows. "Pardon?"

Hubert steps forward, idly fussing with the buttons on her sleeve. He's never quite kicked the habit of helping maintain her appearance, Claude had offered to braid her hair once—some elaborate style that was apparently all the rage in Almyra—and Hubert had fixed him with a look that might have melted a lesser man from over Edelgard's head.

She thinks it's as therapeutic for him as it is her, so she's declined to stop the ritual.

"That is to say," says Hubert, eyes trained squarely on her sleeve, "that pairing off another set of your friends—your very _royal_ friends, mind—will only increase conversation about your own..." he trails off at Edelgard's warning eyebrow.

"My own _what,_ Hubert?" Edelgard asks, knowing very well _what_.

Hubert opens his mouth, seems to promptly think better of it, closes it, and folds himself down into a bow.

"As you say, my lady," he says—quite politely—to the floor. "Dorothea will have insight, when she returns."

He straightens back up. Edelgard folds her arms.

"As _I_ recall," she drawls, because Hubert brought it up so now Hubert has to listen to her complain about it, an activity that can take up to several hours if Edelgard is in a particular mood. "Dorothea's last suggestion was to _imprison_ those members of the Council who spoke up about my..." she trails off, feigning forgetfulness. "What was it? My _eligibility?"_

Hubert, to his credit, doesn't flinch this time. She thinks he had, the first time the word had been used during a Council meeting—it's somewhat difficult to remember, the entire recollection is colored by Dorothea's furious rebuttal to the very _idea_ of the Emperor's private life being a matter of the state and _how dare they_ even think to bring such a thing up and _do they even know who they're speaking to—?_

"I _did_ offer to spike Lord von Zetner's tea," says Hubert, slightly put-off in that way he sometimes gets when Edelgard denies him one of his simple pleasures, like assassinating political rivals or drinking coffee after midnight.

Edelgard twists her lips, irritated—she has so many things she should be doing right now, and the fact that she is currently doing none of them simply will not stop gnawing at her—and drops the apple core back in Hubert's hand.

 _"Perhaps,"_ she says, curt even to her own ears but unable to curb her tone, "the world will be so pleased that I've rescued two of the most famous war heroes from bachleordom, have secured an alliance between the Kingdom and Almyra, _and_ managed to save us all from a lifetime of watching them pine _miserably_ after one another that they might leave me and my _eligibility_ alone for one meeting."

Hubert's expression is as even as ever, as though she'd just laid out a brilliant battle strategy.

"One can only hope, Lady Edelgard," he replies, and she just sighs.

"Go plan an assassination," she says, waving him off. He cracks a smirk—it's a longstanding joke, the Empire has fair trials these days, no more cloak-and-dagger business, thought Hubert still lurks about as though he were _born_ malevolently shrouded in shadow—and offers another bow.

"Oh, I'll wait until Dorothea returns," he replies. "You know she takes it so personally when I plan those things without her."

.

.

.

Edelgard finds Claude in the fields on the western grounds of the palace, where they keep wyverns when they have any. Every time Petra visits she insists Edelgard construct an enormous arena to keep them in, and every time Edelgard has to very carefully and gently explain that an Emperor who has started an arguable number of wars—she says one, Dimitri says two, Claude says one and a half; they've settled on _non-zero_ —suddenly taking an interest in breeding enormous scaled beasts most commonly used for warfare is not, strictly speaking, the best thing for her reputation.

His wyvern—the beautiful white one named Ariana that had stilled the breath in Edelgard's chest when she'd first seen it—is settled peacefully among the tall grass, eyes closed as Claude reaches up to stroke her neck.

It warms her, truly, to see Almyra's king so content. A ruler's work is never done, of course, but in Claude's case—not only is it never done, but there are plenty of political rivals waiting in the wings _salivating_ at the chance to topple everything he's built.

 _"You don't employ a guard?"_ Edelgard had asked, concerned, as she'd followed Claude through the streets of Almyra's capital city early in his rule, one hand holding his so as to not lose him in the crowd, the other clenched tightly around Dimitri's gifted dagger where it sat sheathed at her ribs.

Claude had only shrugged, waving his free hand dismissively as they turned a corner. The street had been teeming with life—packed with people selling and buying and trading and bartering and gossiping. Her mind had turned with all the lies and excuses she was going to have to weave Hubert—the man was liable to drop dead if he knew she'd left the fortress without a single Imperial guard.

 _"There are far more useful things for them to be doing than following me around all day,"_ he'd said, unconcerned. He'd pulled her down an alley then—cramped and tight and Edelgard had inhaled sharply as they'd passed through—

 _"Sorry,"_ Claude had apologized quietly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. _"That's the only tunnel like that, we're almost there."_

More twists and turns—how Claude kept them all straight, Edelgard had no idea, but she'd started to understand how he had always seemed to get the drop on her from unscouted locations when they'd battled along the Empire and Alliance's shared border—

Edelgard had gasped when Claude suddenly tugged at her hand, pulling her off balance and sending her stumbling behind him. She'd opened her mouth to scold him—properly cross—when several shadows suddenly fell across them—

Soldiers—all dressed in the colors of Almyra's Royal House—seemed to suddenly _appear._ Edelgard certainly hadn't seen them coming, and she'd stepped up on tiptoe to peer over Claude's shoulder as he had positioned himself in front of her.

Edelgard knew so little Almyran in those days, and the guards had spoken too quickly for her to catch anything. Claude had responded just as rapidly—the jaunty, false cheer in his voice made the hair on her neck rise—and after a short exchange and a few dismissive gestures by Claude, the guards stepped back, leaving the two of them alone.

Claude had watched them go—shoulders a stiff line of bone beneath her—before spinning around, taking her hand once more with a flourish.

 _"Onward, then,"_ he'd told her, smoothly taking the lead once more, but Edelgard's gaze had dropped to his other hand—to where he hadn't moved his fingers from the hidden knife at his hip.

 _"You don't trust them,"_ Edelgard had realized, softly. _"Your guards. You don't want them here because you don't think they'd protect you."_

Claude had glanced over his shoulder, offering her a cheerful smile—the fake one she'd remembered from Garreg Mach.

 _"I'm used to looking after myself,"_ he'd told her, tone tightrope taut. _"It's worked out for me so far."_

"Emperor," Claude greets, and Edelgard blinks away the memory. He sweeps into a courtly bow, knowing it annoys her.

"Your Majesty," she returns smoothly, inclining her head. She raises it again, taking in the sight of the rather dressed-down King of Almyra. "I trust your stay as been enjoyable so far?"

Claude heaves a sigh so dramatic the sharp line of his shoulders swells and collapses, waving his free hand in a pointless gesture.

"Oh I _suppose,"_ says Claude, flashing her a quick smirk just so she knows he's teasing. Edelgard lifts an eyebrow."There was no feast in my honor, however, and I see you've neglected to erect a statue of me on the palace grounds, which I seem to remember _specifically_ requesting during the armistice."

Edelgard purses her lips to hide her smile. "Caspar also asked for a statue," she muses. "Perhaps I'll make the two of you fight for my entertainment over it."

"How delightfully Imperial of you," Claude returns, grinning, and Edelgard rolls her eyes at him as she slowly approaches his wyvern.

She's an enormous creature—Edelgard can hardly imagine mounting one at all, never mind the artful acrobatics Claude pulls off, in the heat of battle no less. In the ancient stories, she knows the villains always rode wyverns—the False King of Macedon, Michalis; or Valter, the so-called Moonstone General who terrorized the continent of Magvel. She's genuinely pleased that history will have a more honorable wyvern rider to write about with Claude rising to prominence.

"Hm?" Claude quirks an eyebrow, noting Edelgard's interest. "Did you want to take a ride? I'm sure I could convince Ariana to oblige you."

The wyvern cracks an eye open to treat her master to a look that can only be called _withering._ Edelgard laughs.

"That won't be necessary," she says, politely, folding her arms regally at her waist for lack of anything better to do with them. She hesitates—weighs her words, tastes them—before rushing out, "I don't care much for flying."

It's hardly a deceleration of weakness, but it makes her stomach roll all the same. Admitting something like that out loud to someone outside of Black Eagle House is still...very odd. Foreign. And why? What would Claude do? Take her aboard his wyvern unwillingly? Dangle her from the sky until she agreed to his terms? Neither suit his political style, his military strategy, or his character as a person. And besides that, he's her friend.

There's just something about him that prompts Edelgard to spill her absolute guts.

Claude must see that entire train of thought flicker across her face—he's so quick to read people, she's endlessly thankful their war had been fought on the battlefield and not on the debate floor—and he replies, with a casualness that could almost be believable if she didn't know him, "I hated flying the first time I tried it."

Edelgard glances over, genuinely interested. "Truly?" she asks. She knows he only said it for her benefit—where most lords she knows seek to dominate and control a conversation, Claude is always searching for a way to make those he's speaking with as comfortable as possible—but she also knows he wouldn't lie to her. She smiles slightly, warmed at the thought. "It seems second nature to you."

Claude chuckles, fingers skimming across the scales of his wyvern, tracing the slope of her snout. "Well, Edelgard. I'd hate to dirty your pristine opinion of me, but there's a _slight_ chance that—on occasion—I'm full of shit."

He flashes her a grin, and Edelgard smiles back.

"Only slightly?" she inquires. She steps a bit closer, bumping her shoulder against his arm. "It seems I've been lead astray. Lord Lorenz told me with the highest confidence that you are, in fact, _always_ full of shit."

Claude barks a laugh at that—a _real_ one, warm and bright—and Edelgard can't stop her own answering grin. Claude steps back then, patting Ariana somewhat roughly on the snout before gesturing with his hand and giving some command in Almyran—Edelgard's been learning it when she can, but she confesses she hasn't quite reached the course on _wyvern talking points—_ and Ariana stretches out her neck and _shrieks—_

Her wings unfurl then, kicking up a gust of wind so strong Edelgard actually feels herself lose her footing until Claude reaches out to lay a steadying hand on her elbow. Rising up to stand on all fours, Ariana shakes hard—Edelgard blinks as grass and dirt and stray leaves and one glimmering, pearlescent scale all tumble off—before swinging her head back around with speed that makes Edelgard's heart skip to assess Claude directly, lips pulling back in a snarl, eyes bright and black in the fading sunlight.

Claude just laughs, calls out something else—Edelgard recognizes the word _friend_ but he speaks too quickly for her to parse much else, and also there's a giant fucking wyvern snarling at her from seven feet away so she won't claim to be very preoccupied with translation, currently—and Edelgard shuts her eyes tightly as the wyvern takes flight.

She hears the rush of wind as Ariana flaps her wings, feels a cool shadow fall over her, and then nothing.

"I think she likes to see if she can scare me, sometimes," Claude remarks, folding his arms. He glances over at her, not a trace of amusement or judgement in his expression as Edelgard opens her eyes. "You okay? I know she can be a bit overwhelming."

Edelgard nods slowly. Claude gives her elbow a squeeze before dropping his hand.

"Flying was difficult, at first," he admits with a shrug, tracking his wyvern as she vanishes up into the clouds. "It goes against everything you know. I think everyone has a hard time with it at the start."

Edelgard considers it. "As I recall, Petra was a natural the first time she flew a pegasus."

" _Sure,"_ drawls Claude, and she glances over to see him rolling his eyes, though he's still smiling. "But find me something Petra's _not_ naturally spectacular at."

Edelgard lifts her eyebrows. "You are familiar with this, then," she says.

Claude laughs, and while Edelgard would never accuse him of posturing his good humor the way he did back at the Academy, she can't help but notice it's simply...not as loud and warm as the laugh he'd shared just hours earlier with Dimitri.

"The fact that she can just wake up and try her luck at any skill and be proficient at it by lunchtime?" Claude arches an eyebrow. "Yeah. Very familiar. She showed me up at archery once and I sulked in my room about it for, like, an actual _week."_

Edelgard hums, thoughtful, watching the skies to see if she can catch another glimpse of Ariana.

"I worried she'd leave me," Edelgard murmurs, her tongue curling against the words—she'd only ever confessed this to Hubert and Byleth—but still she forces them out. She trusts Claude and—really—if she's successful in her plans, she's essentially handpicking her brother-in-law, so.

Claude frowns, turning to face her. _"Petra?"_ he asks. "Why would she ever leave you?"

Edelgard lifts a shoulder, still declining to face him. She would almost rather have taken a ride on Ariana. _Almost._

"She is, as you stated, singularly gifted. She's also..." Edelgard considers it, thoughtful. "She's gripped by a passion to succeed—to advance, to surpass. She..." Edelgard trails off, wringing her hands. An old habit she can't shake. She's constantly telling Hubert to scold her if he catches her doing it, but he never does.

Claude tilts his head. "Edelgard?" he prompts—gentle, measured.

"I..." Edelgard sighs, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. "When we campaigned against you—against the Alliance—I was prepared for some loyalties to...tip." She bends down then, neck pricking with Claude's gaze as she quietly collects Ariana's dislodged scale from where it sits winking in the low light. She turns it over in her hand, marveling at the way it shifts colors.

Edelgard says, "Petra is honorable. Indescribably so, and I feared she might see _more_ honor in fighting beneath a different banner." Her hand closes tightly over the scale—its uneven ridges dig into her palm, and she lets it sting.

Claude watches her from a respectable distance. He never crowds people—always seems to know precisely how much physical proximity he is allowed. It is something Edelgard deeply appreciates.

"You worried they wouldn't see your perspective," Claude says, soft. "Worried they'd lose trust."

Edelgard laughs—once, hollow.

"On bad days," she says. "I worried they trusted me at all."

Claude inclines his head in understanding, says, "I can't imagine. I'd have never made it out of Garreg Mach if I didn't have the support of the Deer."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Are you implying that you never feared—not once—that one of your allies might stray to my cause?" Her tone just barely flirts with reproach—wounded, still, after everything—that even for a moment they'd thought her a careless warmonger.

Claude's mouth thins as his eyebrows pull together—an expression of unhappiness that actually pleases Edelgard to see. He only takes off the mask when he's with friends, he'd never let an enemy know his displeasure.

"We had bad intelligence, Edelgard—we've been over this. None of us knew what you were actually after, or why you attacked Garreg Mach in the first place. And when we finally did find out," he gestures somewhat pointlessly with his hands, "we all threw our lot in together anyway."

"What about Dimitri?" asks Edelgard, doing her best to cloak the true intrigue in her voice with steady dispassion. _Don't show your hand,_ Byleth's advice lingers, even if they themself do not. _Play close to your chest, especially with Claude._ "He could have left the cause at any time. Surely the thought crossed your mind."

Just like that—the mask snaps into place. All of Claude's open frustration and visible discomfort at the conversation just _vanishes—_ replaced with an easy smile faker than even the ones Dorothea's forced from her when she can't be bothered to play nicely with Enbarr's Council.

"Dimitri and I," says Claude, and Edelgard can hear it, now that she's listening for it. That careful cadence he speaks with when the topic turns to the Kingdom's ruler, like every word must pass some sort of internal inspection before he allows it to be spoken. His tone is light and easy and charming as always, but his eyes— _his eyes,_ Byleth would always tell her, their voice low in her ear, _watch his eyes, El, that's where the truth is—_ are not quite as bright as they'd been just a moment before. "Were never truly on the same _side,_ Edelgard. I wasn't sworn to him, and he wasn't sworn to me. He was free to do as he wished."

Edelgard turns her head to give him a single, sidelong stare.

"Forgive me," she says, deadpan. "As the person you were united against, it seemed very much like you two were on the same side."

Claude huffs a sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

 _"Edelgard—"_ he begins, but she just holds up a hand, shaking her head.

"I chose to keep my plans private," she murmurs. "I left everyone in the dark. You made the best decisions you could with the information you had." She lowers her hand and curls it into a fist at her side—tightly, briefly—before relaxing. "We all did."

Claude's expression softens, and Edelgard allows hers to do the same. There's no reason to push any further tonight.

"I'm very glad Dimitri didn't leave you," she offers. She's hardly fishing anymore—she know she's right, the real question is what she's going to do about it—but a smile still tugs at her lips when Claude goes stiff for one split-second before forcing himself loose.

All that charm and charisma and he still jolts when he hears Dima's name. It would almost be endearing, if they didn't insists on being such absolute idiots.

Claude says, "I am as well," with a smile Edelgard would almost believe if she hadn't seen how bright his eyes had been earlier with Dimitri.

 _"Can you read everyone's eyes like that?"_ Edelgard had asked Byleth once. _"With Claude, you said to watch his eyes. How did you know?"_

Byleth had only shrugged, focused on their drawn dagger. _"Not everyone,"_ they'd replied, dutifully studying the tip of the blade. They'd turned it, assessing the steel. _"But some. Most."_

Edelgard had titled her head. _"Who else?"_

A pause. Noticeable. Byleth had stopped examining their dagger.

 _"It's easy when the person's in love,"_ they had said, emotionless, and Edelgard flinched as they sheathed their dagger with a snap.

**Author's Note:**

> listen dimiclaude is _good_ I have no further comments.
> 
> I'll be adding on to this, hopefully. I have most of then next part written I'm just stumped in a few scenes down the road and didn't want it to hold up the whole fic, so I decided to chop it up. plus I'm aiming for a fic every month and I _know_ this is technically cheating but sush it'll be our secret okay.
> 
> I just really like Three Houses and have written enough angst. let them have fun. let Edelgard say fuck. I don't ask for much.
> 
> ~~also please 3H fandom open your third eye and see the beauty that is Hubert/Dorothea it's such a criminally underrated ship please I'm begging you give me more content~~
> 
> you can come yell at me on twitter [@reduxwriter](https://twitter.com/reduxwriter) or read my other Fire Emblem stuff [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=fire+emblem&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=MidwesternDuchess)
> 
> have a good one kids <3


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